The Goblin King's Servant
by KBates
Summary: Just as Sarah Williams thought her life had hit rock bottom, an old nemesis proves her wrong. "You were a human servant in my castle and servants don't become Queens in my realm—you and I aren't in a fairytale." J and S. Cruel, obsessive, and cold Jareth.


**WARNING** : Dark and disturbing. With a hint of desolation.

 **Summary** : She'd never expected life to turn out so desolate. She'd never expected to be a 25-year-old college dropout, stuck in a menial job, taking care of her self-destructive, pain medication and gambling addicted mother. Just as she thinks life has hit rock bottom, she's proven wrong by an old nemesis. J and S. Dark Jareth. One shot.

 **The Goblin King's Servant**

* * *

 _(Somewhere in a suburb of a smallish city in America)…_

"What do you mean we have to refinance the house?" Sarah asks, staring at the woman who is now a shell of her mother, in disbelief. By some miracle, she'd worked out a minimum payment deal with the bank to keep them from foreclosing on the last piece of…well… _anything_ …her mother owns. Refinancing simply isn't an option.

Linda Williams trains her vacant, unfocused eyes on her daughter, anger creeping its way into her chest. "I lost a…considerable amount…to James last night-"

"Who the fuck is James?" Sarah can't help but cut in, her voice louder with each word she utters.

"He's the owner of that new bar that's opened up by Target," Linda replies, "I know I shouldn't have done it, but he was just so persuasive."

Sarah's legs tremble as she makes her way to the sofa and sits down. It is _never_ her mother's fault—it's always someone else's—starting with the doctor that first prescribed her the opioid. It hadn't been her fault when she'd been fired from every stage production because of her creeping addiction. It isn't her fault that her finances are in such dire straits—it is her accountant's who'd failed to inform her that she was living a lifestyle _way_ beyond her means.

"Sarah, you really don't have to be so judgmental," Linda huffs as she takes a seat on an adjacent armchair.

Sarah turns her frosty gaze on her mother, her expression grim. "Don't say another word," she says, her voice deceptively low. "I'll speak to this James. But if you gamble again, mom, I'm out of your life."

Like she's done a hundred times before, Linda nods her head, she looks almost sincere. Perhaps she even wants to be.

* * *

 _(James' Bar…in some insignificant strip mall with a Target)…_

She eyes the slate and rust décor with mild interest—this bar doesn't belong in some insignificant strip mall in some insignificant little suburb, it belongs in some other major world capital. She wonders what this man, James, will be like—whether he'll show any mercy.

Scoffing at herself, she wonders whether her bad luck will _ever_ run out. Her life wasn't supposed to turn out like this. Just a few years ago, she'd been in her third year of college, wondering whether she should take the LSATs immediately or work for two years before applying for law school.

 _That's when everything had changed._

Her father and Karen, just like her mother, had been living significantly beyond their means. Robert, an income tax lawyer, had helped more than a few of his clients evade taxes—and he was caught. The marriage had unraveled fairly quickly after that—her father had been disbarred and arrested, her stepmother had taken her half-brother and moved across the country to start fresh as a school teacher.

Sarah had had to drop out of school and help her mother—who'd been completely bedridden then. Ironic, perhaps, how her opioid addiction had hampered her gambling. At the moment, her relationship with Toby is nonexistent—the only conversation Sarah ever has with Karen these days seems to revolve around Karen complaining about the mountain of debt she has to pay back.

Well, here she is now, a 25-year-old with no degree, working as an executive assistant in an accounting firm, completely replaceable by anyone. She knows they won't replace her outright, though—it's to their advantage to keep her in her position without promoting her for years—she's not exactly a qualified candidate, so they know she's not going anywhere. Sarah is realistic enough to understand that the economy, outsourcing options, and technological advances ensure the foreseeable future remains an employer's market. And _that_ , unfortunately, means she's stuck where she is.

"James will be with you shortly, he apologizes for the delay." A smartly dressed hostess interrupts her thoughts—Sarah nods mutely. She eyes the woman as she walks away, her hips swaying slightly due to her heels. Her hair is perfectly straight and thick, her makeup impeccable—she makes Sarah feel… _frumpy_ …or worse, inadequate.

The last few years have been quite depressing, and she uses that as an excuse for her appearance. She'd once been pretty—not the made up kind of pretty, but the natural, effortless kind—the kind that's damn near impossible to find. As life became more difficult, she'd found herself eating quick, easily accessible food and the pounds had accumulated throughout the years. And of course, the alcohol—it'd been way too easy to drown out her sorrows with boxed wine over her many, free, lonely weekends. Her weight is now closer to the overweight section of the BMI chart—fortunately, she hasn't crossed _that_ line yet. Her once sparkling eyes are dull and framed by dark circles—more than a few silver hairs are present in her sable locks. She's too young to have gray hair, but the sheer amount of cortisol in her system ages her prematurely.

She understands that her story isn't unique—lots of people have to drop out of school due to life circumstances. Still…she'd never assumed that _she'd_ be one of them—these kind of things were supposed to happen to _other_ people. _She_ was supposed to finish school, take the LSATs and head off to law school—not become a disadvantaged, overworked secretary in an ordinary accounting firm.

So caught up in self-pity is she, that she doesn't notice a deeply amused _man_ sit right opposite her.

"And so the prodigal daughter rises up to atone for her mother's sins."

* * *

 _(A few seconds later)…_

She can't help but stare at him, open mouthed. His face remains the same—razor sharp cheekbones and strangely piercing eyes, one with an abnormally dilated pupil. "It can't be you…" that's all she can manage.

The _man_ smiles a mocking smile, his eyes flash icy triumph. "Were you expecting someone else, _Sa-rah_?"

 _Yes, anyone but you_ , she thinks to herself as her heartrate spikes. "What do you want?"

A deep laugh. "To the point, aren't you?" He pauses as he assesses her form, his lips twisting into a ghost of a smile. "How the mighty have fallen."

Sarah clenches her fists as a surge of anger replaces the fear in her heart. But even in her anger, she notices that he wears a perfectly cut suit, one that compliments his slim figure. His shoes probably cost more than what she makes in three months, and his hair is artfully messy. He looks like he's just stepped out of the pages of Vanity Fair. The feeling of inadequateness seeps into her yet again, and she fights to control it.

"What do you want?" she repeats, her tone clipped.

He fixes her with a smoldering gaze, quiet for a few moments. " _You_ …"

"Me?"

A slow smile. "You didn't let me finish, I want you…" he pauses, his smile turning crueler by the second, "…at my mercy."

It takes every bit of her self-control _not_ to tell the bastard to go to fuck himself. "You need to be more specific, what exactly do you want from me."

His dual eyes rake through her form and a look of disdain flashes in his gaze, as if he, too, finds her lacking. "I wanted an exciting fight with the beautiful, passionate human I'd encountered a decade earlier…however…you're not _that_ particular human anymore, are you?" His tone is malicious, as is the smirk on his lips. "Your beauty has withered away and your passion…" he laughs, not bothering to complete the thought. It's fairly evident that her passion has waned.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you," she says through clenched teeth. "Now tell me what you want."

He raises a brow, "What can I _take_ from you?" he asks, playing with her as he's longed to do for years, feeding on her anger and self-pity. "What can you… _give…_ me?"

She bites her lip at his suggestive tone. He couldn't possibly mean…

He laughs his cruel, icy laugh, his eyes alight with humor. "I certainly don't want your body if that's what you're thinking of offering me."

Miraculously, she's able to keep her fury at bay. "We have no money, so I don't know what I can give you-"

"Perhaps I will have you after all," he interrupts, murmuring the words, as if he's speaking to himself. He turns towards her, his eyes sharp. "Serve me for a year—and I'll erase your mother's debts, _all_ her debts."

"You expect me to leave my life behind and _serve_ you for a whole year?" Her cheeks are aflame with anger, but a spark of passion lights up her jaded eyes. "My mother may die and I will be fired from my job, I can't just take off for a year without consequences Goblin King."

He raises a laconic brow at her display of rage. "I can make it so that neither situations occur," he states regally, leaning back and enjoying the conflicting emotions that flit across her face. "One year," he eyes her from head to toe, "in my… _service_ …and I'll return you to your pathetic life where all will remain unchanged. Save for your mother's debts, of course."

Something occurs to Sarah then—had he done all of this for _her_? She laughs—a harsh sound. "So you put up a charade of being _James_ to bait my mother just so you could get back at me for beating your puzzle?" She laughs until there are tears in her eyes. "I suppose I should be flattered."

Staring back at her, his face expressionless, he gives her a shrug. "Yes, you should be."

She stops laughing upon hearing his utterly detached tone. It's an offer that's too good to refuse—she understands that much. With her mother's debts erased, perhaps she can go back to school, take night classes. Then she can find a better job—one that'll give her the option of securing insurance coverage for her mother. The future seems full of _possibilities_ now—possibilities of placing her mother in rehab, breaking free of this suffocating chain of responsibility that ties her to her parents who've failed her entirely, having a life that's free of menial drudgery. He's providing her with _hope_ —and the hint of a smile on his lips tells her that he knows it.

His smile grows at the look of desperation in her eyes. He holds out a hand. "Do we have an agreement, _darling girl_?"

Raising a shaky hand forward, she nods.

* * *

 _(Three months after the agreement, the Goblin King's castle)…_

Tonight's gala is no different than the others she's seen—she makes sure to stand in the shadows until actually called upon by one of the beautiful creatures in attendance. She stands barefoot, a sign of servitude, in a coarse, unrefined cotton dress—her hair is prudently tied in a low ponytail, her hands have been thoroughly scrubbed clean so that she may not offend any of his guests.

She sees him, his head thrown back as he laughs, his icy eyes sparkle—she's observed him enough to realize it's a genuine laugh. He says something to the group surrounding him, and they too burst into laughter—conversation comes naturally to the Goblin King—whether it's a detailed discussion on politics or superficial small talk. He seems to have that quality that draws everyone else towards himself. Tonight, he has a woman in his arms—one with dark hair and green eyes, she notices with a wry smile.

A small frown furrows her brows when she thinks of him— she hadn't known what to expect when he'd demanded she serve him, but _this_ wasn't it. In these three months, she's almost never been in direct contact with him. The housekeeper informs Sarah of her duties, much like a manager, she supposes, and she stays in the servants' quarters within the castle grounds.

"You, human!"

She snaps out of her thoughts as the housekeeper runs towards her. "Yes?"

"Some drunken lord spilled an entire barrel of wine in the west balcony, go clean it up."

She grits her teeth, but nods. This is her job, and she only has nine more months to go. She doesn't notice that a pair of mismatched eyes follow her retreating form.

* * *

 _(Six months after the agreement, the Goblin King's castle)…_

Heat creeps up her face and her heart pounds in her chest. Why did they have to come _here_ of all places? She cringes as she hears moans and whispers, the telltale rustle of discarded fabric.

 _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck everything!_

She tries, as discreetly as she can, to move towards the back exit of the library—she's been reading during her free time, and she's never once encountered him in the library. Until today, that is. Just as she reaches the door, his mocking laughter stops her in her tracks.

"Hello, _Sa-rah_."

 _Keep calm, don't give him the fucking satisfaction. Not that he wasn't getting that already. Ugh, stop it, Williams!_

Hastily shutting off her internal monologue, she turns around, keeping her clenched fists out of his sight. "Um…hello, Your Majesty," she says with a sloppy curtsey.

A vicious grin spreads across his face as he sees her falter at the sight of him bare chested. "Cleaning up the library, were you?"

"No, I come here during my free time…to read…and because it's quiet."

"Ah, I was searching for a quiet little spot as well," he states with a twinkle in his eyes—just then, his companion comes out from behind the rows and rows of leather bound books. Coincidentally, this particular woman also has dark hair and green eyes.

Sarah can't stop herself from gaping at her—while the Goblin King stands half naked, this woman is completely unclothed and not even a tiny bit self-conscious about it. But then again, she has the kind of figure that's highly prized—one that's tall, graceful, thin, and the right amount of curvy in the right places. Her hair's a tad curlier than Sarah's and her eyes a shade darker with flecks of gold.

"Is this a new game we're playing, Jareth?" the woman asks, her voice deep and melodious, her eyes remain fixed on the human servant who seems to be frozen. "I didn't know you'd started playing with your… _domestic staff_. You were always very clear about your boundaries." Saying that she kisses a trail down his chest and plays with the fastening of his pants.

Averting her eyes, Sarah appeals to his sense of mercy. "May I leave?"

The Goblin King decides to be generous. "Yes." He watches her reach for the door and open it. "Oh, Sarah," he calls, smiling as she stops, but refuses to turn around. "Clean this place up in the morning—I don't want to see a speck of dust on any of the books."

"Of course."

She closes the door behind her and runs out of the castle as fast as she can—into the small but clean room that's been allotted to her. _Six more months_ , she repeats in her head, _just six more months_.

* * *

 _(That night)…_

 _He sits on his throne in his standard pose—one leg casually thrown across an armrest, the other resting on the floor. His silvery head rests in one hand while the other holds a steel tipped riding crop. He watches her from his comfortable position, a slow smile twisting his lips—there's something about seeing her on the floor, on her knees, scrubbing the stone floor of his castle so meticulously that gives him great satisfaction._

 _She feels his eyes on her body—a crimson flush spreads across her skin. He'd made it a point to stay away from her all this time…_ well _…she supposes, something must have changed tonight._

 _She thinks of the woman in the library—she can't help but feel a stab of jealousy. Compared to her goddess-like form, Sarah feels like, to use a juvenile term, a fat loser. She'd stopped caring about her appearance once her life had started going downhill—what was the point of looking good anymore?_

 _But_ now _…as the Goblin King's servant, of all things…she wishes she'd stopped herself from turning into such a mess._

 _"Sa-rah."_

 _Startled at the sound of his voice, she turns towards him without rising from the floor. "Yes?"_

 _He raises the crop with his hand. "Rise," he commands, holding her gaze as she hesitates. "Now."_

 _Placing the scrubbing cloth into the bucket, she does as he asks, wiping her hands on her dress, which is now filthy. Goblins aren't known for being the cleanest of creatures, and cleaning up after them isn't the easiest of tasks—but having spent six months as his servant, she knows this. "Can I…" her voice dies as he taps the steel tipped crop against a leather boot._

 _"Yes?"_

 _"Can I go now?"_

 _A cold smile. "Come here, Sa-rah."_

 _Heart thumping loudly in her chest, she wonders what to make of this new development—he'd never shown an ounce of interest, sexually or otherwise, in her for the last six months. Must be a new game of his, she thinks, he's bored and has nothing else to do._

 _The Goblin King's face remains expressionless, and his voice deceptively mild. "Don't make me ask you twice."_

 _She doesn't—she walks up to his throne and wonders what she should say. "Is there…uh…anything else you want me to do?"_

 _"Let your hair loose."_

 _What? She stands there, staring at him with her mouth open. "Technically, you're my employer and as such you can't ask me to-" She's abruptly quieted by the cold steel tip of his riding crop as he raises it to her lips._

 _"Technically, my darling girl, I'm your King and I can command you to do…_ anything _…I want." Tilting his head, he eyes her with malicious delight. "What exactly do you suppose I want from you, Sa-rah?"_

 _Breathe, she tells herself, he's just playing with you—breathe. A startled gasp escapes her lips as she realizes that her hair is suddenly loose—must be his magic. "I have no idea," she says, and it's the truth, "Your Majesty." She can't help but say those words with sarcasm, a spark of defiance blazes in her eyes._

 _Six more months, she repeats to herself, survive for six more months._

 _He laughs a slow, rich laugh. "At the moment, my darling, I'd like your dress, filthy as it is."_

 _"I'm sorry, what?" As much as she'd like to deny it, she feels a depraved sense of triumph at his command—he_ is _interested in her, after all. Still, she has her boundaries and she's not going to cross them._

 _"Your dress," his eyes grow cold as does his voice. "You may either remove it or have me remove it for you."_

 _Her pulse races and her blood grows hot—she stares at him, unable to move._

 _"Very well," he states, raising a brow. "Have it your way." Moving too quickly for human eyes to follow, he pulls her onto his lap, and rips the coarse fabric right off her body, along with her undergarments._

 _Sarah tries opening her mouth to scream—tries moving her legs to kick him, but she finds herself frozen in his arms. Her mind rages at her to shout or claw his eyes out—to no avail. She can only look on in horror as he lowers his mouth onto her naked breast, his sharp teeth biting viciously into the tender flesh at the very tip…_

She wakes up with a violent start, perspiration beading down her forehead and blood thrumming through her veins. A dream, it was only a dream.

"Sleep paralysis, that's what you… _modern_ mortals…call it." His rich voice reverberates against the walls of her measly little room in the servants' quarters, making her jump.

"What're you doing here?" she asks, her eyes still wild with fear.

He stands as far away from her as he possibly can in this torture cell of a room he's given her. "I could feel that you were distressed, and I thought to check up on you. After all, you are my _valued guest_ —I can't have you lose your mind."

Blazing anger overtakes her sense of fear as she stands up on shaky legs. "Valued guest? Don't make me laugh!"

"Don't be so furious with me, darling girl. Ripping an unwilling woman's clothes off is hardly my style—that was entirely drawn out of your… _imagination_ …of me."

And just like that, her anger is replaced by scorching embarrassment. "Drawn out of my _nightmares_ , you mean," she mumbles, looking away.

A slow smile—"Yes, your… _delicious_ …nightmares."

"Thanks for checking up on me—I'm a little shaken, but fine. So you can leave my humble chambers… _Your Majesty_." She can never quite bring herself to say his title with sincerity.

His laugh only grows louder. "Of course," he says with a mock bow. "Don't forget to clean the library tomorrow, _Sarah_ —I want it spotless." There's a dark but mocking edge to his words, and a blaze of heat flashes in his gaze before he turns away.

Letting out a deep breath in relief, she tries her best to keep from trembling. It's not his presence that's unnerved her so—but the dream. It hadn't only been terror that'd made her heartrate soar—and it certainly hadn't been terror that gathered liquid heat between her legs.

 _What the hell is wrong with me?_ She asks herself the rhetorical question and is unable to come up with an answer. Six more months. All she has to do is stay the hell away from him for six months.

* * *

 _(Nine months after the agreement, the Goblin King's castle)…_

The very foundations of the castle shake—even the goblins, boisterous creatures that they are, are uncharacteristically quiet. None of the staff has seen the King this furious in a long time—they are afraid, but they are also surprised.

"But she's only a human servant, Your Grace-" the housekeeper is cut off by his icy stare.

"You were told to ensure her safety—and you failed. Mortals cannot withstand the effects of the ycelia flower, yet you asked her to tend the flower gardens." His voice doesn't indicate his fury at all—instead, it is deathly calm and soft. "I don't believe you've done this on purpose…however, for your negligence…" he lets the thought drift off, a look of cruel satisfaction crossing his face as he sees the blood drain from hers.

The Goblin King doesn't wait a second longer—he has no wish to witness the housekeeper's pleas for mercy. With a flick of his wrist he transports her to a cell deep in the catacombs of his castle—a few months of isolation and starvation is a fitting punishment. He addresses the rest of his staff, who stand before him, "if anyone else causes the mortal harm, the punishment shall be far more severe."

He orders one of his advisors to assign a new housekeeper—and to make sure _this one_ is competent.

* * *

 _(Later that night, Sarah's room in the servants' quarters)…_

He trails a gloved finger down her face after checking up on her. She will recover in a few days— _he_ , on the other hand…

He laughs bitterly, mostly at himself, he finally understands that he will never break free of her.

* * *

 _(Twelve months after the agreement, the Goblin King's castle)…_

"For you, pretty lady," a chubby little goblin says as he hands her a bunch of wild flowers before scuttling away.

Sarah smiles—it's not the most uniform bouquet going, but it does have its own charm. The goblins of the castle seem to like her quite a bit. Probably because she treats them as her equals instead of lowly creatures to be ordered, like the rest of the castle staff.

The nickname that the goblins have awarded her, 'pretty lady' makes her laugh. She doesn't even know _what_ she looks like as she has no mirror in her room. Neither does the medieval bathroom shared by all female maids. Her duties are mostly scrubbing the first level floors and helping out in the kitchens, so she hasn't had the opportunity to come across a mirror—not that she'd have had the time to check out her reflection—her days are _packed_.

Still, she's definitely noticed that her cotton dresses are getting looser by the day—her work is mostly physical labor and her diet literally has no unnaturally processed foods. Since there's no processed sugar in this rather medieval realm, she's been able to cut out the addictive white powder entirely. _How ironic_ , she thinks, that being Jareth's servant allows her the luxury of being on an all organic diet.

"Human!" The housekeeper's shrill voice snaps Sarah out of her thoughts.

"Yes?"

"The King's asked for you to visit him in his private dining chamber." The housekeeper gives her a sidelong glance. "He's asked that you join him for dinner. You will find some dresses in your room, you may choose one to wear for the evening." The entire castle staff have been curious about the nature of the King's relationship with the mortal—especially since the last housekeeper…well… _vanished_.

 _This is certainly new_. Sarah waves off the woman's suggestion—if the King wants her at his dinner table, then let him receive her as the servant he's made her out to be, rather than some human in a borrowed, 'more presentable' dress.

* * *

 _(Later on that night)…_

He rises as she enters the elaborate dining chamber—she laughs at his play at politeness. Upon taking a bath, she'd worn a fresh, but old cotton dress, the kind she'd worn throughout her 'stay' in his castle.

"Don't rise on my behalf, Goblin King," she says with a smile before taking her seat.

He smiles back. "A room full of beautiful dresses and you choose the roughest, coarsest one. Why doesn't that surprise me, _Sa-rah_?"

She doesn't answer him—her interest directed at the numerous cutlery options laid out for her. "Not even the Queen of England uses these many knives and forks anymore, _Your Majesty_."

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not the Queen of England, Sarah—I'm the King of Goblins."

Looking up at him, she grins. "This conversation is ridiculous—I'm guessing you called me here because it's my last day at your castle…?"

"Yes," he agrees. "Come tomorrow, you shall return to your old life."

They eat in silence after that—until dessert is served.

Sarah laughs heartily as she sees a plate of sliced peaches in front of her. "Very original, _Your Majesty_ —but I must refuse dessert, I don't eat peaches."

He places a slice in his mouth. "Pity."

The intensity of his gaze makes her pulse race—there's something different about him tonight. The way he looks at her is almost…no…that _couldn't_ be it. He hasn't touched her even _once_ the entire time she's been here.

Just as he finishes the last slice of peach, Sarah rises—this has been sufficiently awkward. "Please excuse me, _Your Majesty_ , I'd like to rest before that whole transportation thing—I was knocked out for a few days the first time."

He sits back as she rises, a slow smile stretches his bow shaped lips. "Since it is your last day, perhaps you can clear the table and wash the dishes, Sarah…"

"And you can go fuck yourself Jareth," the words come out before she can stop them. Staring at him with her arms crossed, she challenges him to retaliate—to do anything to show he feels _something_ for her…even anger…instead of just indifference.

But the Goblin King only laughs. "Oh, _Sarah_ , I'm delighted to see you've regained some of your… _passion_. How unfortunate for me that you will depart for your world, tomorrow."

His low, seductive voice reverberates in her ears and a slow blush colors her cheeks—he gives a whole new meaning to the term 'sexual harassment in the workplace.' "Good bye, Jareth. I hope you keep your end of the agreement."

"Good bye, precious thing. The agreement shall be honored."

* * *

 _(The next day, somewhere in an accounting firm situated in a smallish city in America)…_

She frowns at the man in front of her—what's his name? Bob? David? It doesn't matter. "No thanks." That's all she says before whirling around and getting back to her little cabin. She opens up a Tupperware box and has pulls out a poorly made sandwich, wincing as she takes a bite. It tastes disgusting.

Her day has be so… _unremarkable_. Her mother, even after having all her debts miraculously canceled, spoke of remortgaging the house all through breakfast—the woman doesn't seem to understand that at the rate she's going, she _will_ end up on the street. Her father...Sarah scoffs derisively…her father had called her up and asked her if he could borrow money for some new, misguided business venture. She'd found out that she couldn't take night classes until next semester—and even so, she'd have to complete two full semesters, instead of one, to earn her degree because of the 'time lapse.'

By the end of the work day, she feels numb—she can't even bring herself to feel angry at the fact that she's spent an entire twelve months being the Goblin King's servant for nothing. The loss of hope makes her feel as if she's been gutted by an icy cold knife.

* * *

 _(That night, Linda's house, somewhere in the suburb of a smallish city in America)…_

Pouring herself her third glass of wine, she eyes her dinner with disdain—a frozen pizza that's been microwaved to the point of sogginess. Her life hasn't changed in the least—except for her looks. And even that will eventually return to what it was in the next few months.

Just as she's about to pass out in bed, a little red book on her dresser catches her eye. She doesn't know if it's the alcohol or just sheer helplessness, the words escape her lips almost immediately.

"I wish the Goblins would take me away, _right now_."

* * *

And just like that, she finds herself transported into Jareth's private dining chamber, sitting across the table from an absolutely ravenous Goblin King.

"Hello, _Sarah darling_." The smile on his lips is predatory, as is his tone. "Took you long enough." He stands, the legs of the massive wooden chair screech against the stone floor, giving her a start.

Even in her tipsy state, she realizes the trap she's walked into. "You knew I'd wish myself away?"

He stalks towards her slowly, _deliberately_ —his smile widens, showcasing his wolfish teeth. "From your pathetic life? Of course." He circles her before standing directly behind her chair, and pressing down on her shoulders. "Stay and have some dessert, _Sa-rah_."

A plate of sliced peaches appears in front of her—by some strange instinct, she knows she shouldn't. "No."

An amused laugh. "You don't have much of a choice, precious thing." Saying that, he binds her wrists together, behind the chair—"I'd rather not have to chase you around the room." He takes a chilled silver fork and pierces a slice.

She can't stop herself from trembling with fear…and perhaps something else. _You idiot—you fucking idiot_ , she screams at herself internally. The look in his eyes… _Jesus_ …he'd never looked at her like that before.

"Open your mouth." He's surprised when she does—her teeth scraping against fork as she consumes the slice of peach. "Good girl," he murmurs, placing another slice next to her lips. "Would you like to know what awaits you, precious thing?" He doesn't let her answer as he swoops down and crushes his mouth against hers in a violent kiss. His razor sharp teeth nip her lips and his tongue explores her mouth in rough, hard strokes.

To say she's horrified is an understatement—not just by her predicament but her reaction to him. Her skin feels hot and sensitive to touch, the tender skin of her chest sizzles as it scrapes against the lace of her nightgown—she moans as his hands stroke their way down her sides before resting below her aching breasts.

He laughs cruelly as she struggles to break free—"As I was saying," … he places another slice of peach in her mouth… "Your stay here shall be… _different_ …this time around, Sarah darling. I have no use for another servant,"…he pulls the sleeves of her nightgown down, his lips place open mouthed kisses on the hollow of her neck… "But I would very much like the pleasure of your company on a more…personal level… _permanently_."

Her eyes widen in confusion. _The hell does he mean?_ "Like a girlfriend?" She gulps as he smirks back at her and shakes his head. He _had_ said permanently. "A…wife…a Queen?"

"No, darling girl," he croons as he lifts the fork and feeds her another slice, yet again. "You were a human servant in my castle and servants don't become Queens in my realm—you and I aren't in a fairytale."

Her blood freezes at the malicious humor present in his tone—the seriousness of her situation becomes evident—that she's made colossally _stupid_ mistake. "I don't understand," she says slowly—anxiety in her voice clearly palpable.

He doesn't answer her—instead, he places a slice of peach in his mouth and lowers his lips to hers once again. His kiss, this time, is sweet— _almost_ , but not quite. "That means, in the simplest of terms, that you are mine, precious creature," he whispers, dragging his lips down the column of her throat. "And I will never let you go."

* * *

 **AN** —Couple of notes—cortisol is a stress hormone, apparently it really screws you over. A classic example of sleep paralysis is when you're having a nightmare, something awful is happening, and you open your mouth to scream but you can't—or you can't run away.

This felt so bleak to write—an exercise in 'putting yourself in someone else's' shoes. I do have a habit of [truthfully] joking that most Laby fanfics are about quiet, not so pretty, socially awkward girls putting themselves in 'Sarah's' shoes to screw magical DB—and also it's a bit ridiculous to think miserable school teachers and/or socially awkward, lonely grad students, somehow make perfect Goblin Queens. Like, come on.

Anyways, I've been told, in oh-so-colorful language that that's not very compassionate on my part. So…I went with trying to put myself in a character like Sarah's [in this fic] shoes. And how her 'situation' could happen to anyone. I felt like that when reading 'Girl on the Train' – whoa, anyone can turn into an utterly dysfunctional alcoholic. In this fic, I went with – whoa, a couple of 'wrong things' happen at the 'wrong times' + selfish parents and anyone can be stuck in an unfortunate life. See…I _can_ do compassion!

The trope that I absolutely hate the most in Laby fanfics is one I've never touched before—Jareth turns Sarah into a servant trope, and then eventually marries her. My GOD—I get that it's written by people who've never lived in societies with rigid socio-economic structures and zero mobility, but _jeez_ HOW is that a romantic scenario? I wouldn't wish servitude on my enemies.

 **On a totally unrelated note** —I opened a tmblr account (username batesybates) to put up the Entr'actes and maybe some snippets from the Dark Court universe from Jareth's POV. So I created it and forgot about it until recently, lol—I'm social media unsavvy, as you can see. Anyways, both Entr'actes are up there so if you want to read them—go for it.


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